


blood upon the risers

by AmaranthBlue



Series: koi no yokan [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Meetings, Genji Shimada Has ADHD, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Jesse McCree Has ADHD, M/M, Paranoia, Pining, Pre-Relationship, like blink and you'll miss it, questionable flirting methods, you can pry those headcanons from my cold dead attention deficient hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18250697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthBlue/pseuds/AmaranthBlue
Summary: “Arsenic is colorless, tasteless, and odorless,” Genji says calmly, matter-of-factly, making no move towards the hot chocolate Jesse had slid towards him.This is the first time Genji’s actually spoken to him, outside of combat, and even then he keeps his replies short, clipped, and nothing beyond what's strictly necessary to complete their mission. All Jesse’s had to go on for a guess at his personality is the tone of his voice.Jesse blinks. “Pardon?”Genji has a thing about getting murdered. Jesse might have a thing for Genji. They're working on it.





	blood upon the risers

 

It starts with arsenic.

Most of what Jesse knows about arsenic he learned during the training unit on poisons, venoms and other miscellaneous methods of subtle assassination, as well as how to deal with them. That was more than a few years ago, but he’d been fascinated with the topic at the time, and Reyes still threw pop quizzes at him during PT to make sure they weren't getting sloppy.

So he already knows everything that Genji’s telling him.

“Arsenic is colorless, tasteless, and odorless,” Genji says calmly, matter-of-factly, making no move towards the hot chocolate Jesse had slid towards him.

This is the first time Genji’s actually spoken to him, outside of combat, and even then he keeps his replies short, clipped, and nothing beyond what's strictly necessary to complete their mission. All Jesse’s had to go on for a guess at his personality is the tone of his voice.

Jesse blinks. “Pardon?”

Genji doesn't acknowledge him, instead staring at the plain white mug set in front of him. “It can take as little as thirty minutes for symptoms to appear. It is a violent and ugly end, and if you manage to survive it's immediate effects, it will cause long term organ damage that will, eventually, kill you.” He nearly sounds bored.

Reyes' mug is halfway to his lips; he pauses, for just a moment, then takes a sip. “Is that something we should be worried about?” He asks, just as calmly, after he sets the mug down again.

Genji considers it. “No,” he says, at last. “He does not think himself a coward.”

And before Jesse’s had the time to process what the hell he's just said, Genji’s picking up the mug and taking one long drink of the hot chocolate he’d implied was poisoned.

Reyes and Jesse exchange a look, and Reyes' is far more blasé about the whole affair.

Jesse can't help but wonder how many times that's come up.

 

* * *

 

There’s a little box of hot chocolate tablets that Reyes has in every safe house.

Every time, without fail, hidden up in the top corner cabinet, pushed all the way to the back, there’s a box of hot chocolate tablets that Jesse steals from when he’s having trouble finding sleep.

He leans up against the counter, humming a half-remembered tune, tapping his fingers against the mug, pushing away the thoughts of the night that keep pressing up against the back of his mind.

The kitchen is dark, besides the moonlight pouring in through the blinds.

And the subtle red tint bouncing off the counters.

He glances over his shoulder.

The figure sitting pretty on the countertop almost sends him jumping out of his skin and across the kitchen, but he manages not to drop his drink as he spins around to face Genji.

“Didn't mean to wake you,” Jesse says, after his heart stops pounding.

Genji blinks slowly at him, distinctly unaffected. “You did.”

They didn't run into each other often; usually just on ops, occasionally passing each other in the halls, and that dull mask was always hiding his face. Now they're in a safe house just a little too cozy, and it's a much tougher to avoid each other.

First time he's seen him without that mask, and it feels cruel to think so, but he can see why he might need it. With skin that looked like it’d gone through a meat grinder, it's a wonder that Angie managed to stitch him back together into a semblance of a human; though the synthetic half of his face is a testament to the fact that even she can't work miracles.

“Sorry.” His eyes wander over Genji’s face, and he thinks, distantly, that it's a little rude to stare like this, but he meets Jesse’s gaze with what feels like a challenge.

Jesse takes a sip from the mug, still hot enough to burn his tongue. “You want one?” He asks, because conversation is so much easier than the silence that stretches between them. “Hot chocolate.”

“My taste buds are.. a work in progress,” Genji admits, though he eyes the mug with a faint interest. Like he hasn’t the energy to pretend he isn’t curious. Or suspicious.

“That right?” Jesse studies him, up and down, leaning back against the counter. “Still warm. If that counts for anythin’.”

A beat passes.

In silence, Genji leans forward, his graceful, artificial fingers taking gentle hold of the mug and plucking it out of his grasp.

Jesse watches him swirl it in the mug, scrutinizing it, the little bits of undissolved chocolate rising to the surface. “Still worried about arsenic?” He asks, and the words tumble out of his mouth before he realizes that’s a stupid thing to say, and he can’t yank them back.

Genji pauses. His eyes narrow, pinning him in place, then he smiles, synthetic lips pulling back over bleach white teeth, and it looks like he’s snarling. “Cyanide, actually.”

“Oh?” He arches a brow, and the fraction of relief he feels at not pissing Genji off is replaced by morbid curiosity. “How come?”

“It takes as little as three minutes to kill,” he begins, almost bored. Like he’s reciting a lesson. “I would first be confused, clumsy, then black out. After my lungs failed, I would have seizures, then a heart attack. Death would follow within, oh..” He clicks his tongue, as if he’s having trouble recalling, but his tone gives away the drama. “Seconds. Much too soon for you to wake Commander Reyes or Dr. O’Deorain and find the antidote kit, if you even have one.”

Genji looks smug about that fact, and Jesse can’t quite figure out why for the life of him, but, he’s almost impressed. _Almost._

He twists around, pulls the top cabinet behind him open and slides the red and white antidote kit out, and he could go through all the motions right now, if he really had to, because Reyes had him memorize every step and drilled it into him. “Spike the saline, spike the bottle, stirred, not shaken, and get an IV going.” Blackwatch may be little more than a glorified killsquad, but there were rare occasions when they needed an assassination target alive.

It’s pretty likely that he’s looking at one.

At the sight of the kit in his hands, Genji frowns—he thinks it’s a frown—and the smugness slips off his face.

Jesse sets the kit back into its place, and Genji finally lifts the mug to his mouth, only to pause again, staring at him, the mug only inches from his lips. “Do you know what it smells like?”

‘Course he does. He’s never used it himself, but he’s been near enough to get a whiff, on a stealth op that had to go off without a hitch. Even if he hadn’t, it’s common enough knowledge. “Almonds,” he answers, after a moment. “It’s like bitter almonds.”

Genji lowers the mug, _again,_ and it’s almost like he’s forgotten it, despite his hands wrapped tightly around it. “Not everyone can. It’s genetic.”

“You can’t,” Jesse guesses, since he’s got a fifty-fifty shot.

“I can’t,” he admits. “He knows that.”

And there it is again: that purposely cryptic bullshit about a boogeyman that he won’t learn the name of.

It’s a tactic.

To what end, he’s not sure, but he can’t deny it’s got him curious.

Jesse finally pushes off the counter and starts to busy himself with making another mug, though he glances at him over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure you’re safe.”

“Hm.” A beat passes, and he can feel Genji’s eyes piercing the back of his head. “You’ve not yet collapsed, so..” He sighs heavily, like he’s disappointed. “I suppose so.”

He’s not entirely sure if he should be worried about that comment, but he doesn’t call him on it.

“You do that a lot?” Jesse asks, playing his own cryptic game, and maybe that makes him petty, but he doesn’t care all that much. He dips a finger into the milk to see if it’s hot enough yet; he winces and shakes it dry, pretending not to notice how Genji’s staring again.

He wonders, idly, if he can still feel pain.

And he almost _asks,_ but that’s too far for even him, and he manages to rein that impulse back in before it gets out of hand.

“Do what,” he says, deadpan.

There’s not really a kind way to put it. “Think about dying.”

He swears he sees another smile, and Genji finally takes a sip of the hot chocolate he’s so kindly surrendered, and, if Jesse didn’t know any better, he’d think he was stalling. “More than I used to.”

Jesse nods once, turns his back again and drops the little chocolate tablet into the mug.

He won’t ask.

That’s _exactly_ what Genji’s trying to get him to do. To give up and ask just what happened, what tragic incident had landed him here, with more than half his body made of metal and what little skin he’s still got covered in scars.

He knows what he wants, and he’s not gonna give it to him, because it’s so much more entertaining to drag it out. And he could go ask Reyes, if he really, really wanted to know, though he wouldn’t get all the specifics Genji’s sure to hammer home when he finally gets his chance.

Jesse just can’t help another look at him.

Genji doesn’t say anything else, just drinks the hot chocolate, and they end up sitting there in silence for a little while, and it’s kinda nice, really, the two of them just sitting in the near dark, sipping their drinks, both stuck in their own little world.

 

* * *

 

It’s after their third op together that Jesse feels homesick.

And that's not exactly the right word, because it's not as if he's ever had a home. Even with Blackwatch, they don't have an HQ, exactly, just a base they'll operate out of for however long is needed.

He can't think of a better word.

They've been in New Mexico for a month and a half, just long enough to get into the rainy season, and it's a real late night—or a real early morning—when he hears the crack of thunder outside, the heavy rain beating against the walls of the safehouse, and he gives up on fighting off the impulse. He digs into his bag he’d shoved under the bed, grabs the pack of cigarettes and the lighter he’d hidden in his socks, and he makes his way to the front deck barefoot.

He doesn't know what time it is, and he doesn't really care. All he knows is that it's a dark, cold, beautiful night, and he just wants to fall into it.

The front deck has managed to stay dry. The wind is making the rain beat against the side of the house, and with the angle it's at, rain barely brushes the faded wood.

Jesse settles down on the edge, feet hanging off the deck, and takes his time soaking it all up before he remembers the cigarettes.

He almost doesn't want to ruin the scent that the rain’s brought— _petrichor,_ he remembers, he always liked that word—but he's positively dying to get a new breath of poison in his lungs.

The lighter he's got is barely running on fumes. It takes a little bit of effort to get it to light. One, two, lucky number three and the flame is bright in the dark, enough to make him blink at it, but he lights the cigarette quick enough.

A slow drag off it and he's already feeling better.

The door creaks behind him. Footsteps follow it, the wooden deck groans. He barely hears it over the storm, but it's enough to make him go stiff, all his muscles to tense, his grip on the cigarette to tighten enough that he squashes it. Just a little.

Then logic wins out, and he figures it's Reyes checking up on him. Wondering if he's doing alright, with all this time spent in his old stomping grounds and this stupid thing with Deadlock popping back up.

It's not Reyes.

Genji settles down next to him, sitting cross legged on the deck, and Jesse’s a little amused by the silhouette of him, sitting like he's meditating.

Genji’s the last person he’d ever expect to see meditating, unless he counted furiously brooding on the ride back to the safe house.

They sit there for a long while. The storm ebbs and flows, rain and wind pounding sideways against the house one moment, a gentle drizzle falling the next. It never touches them, though, no matter how violent it gets.

“I did not know you smoked,” Genji says after a while, when Jesse finishes his first cigarette and uses it to light his second.

Jesse pauses, pulls the cigarette from his mouth, gives him a good once-over. “That gonna mess with your.. stuff?”

Genji shrugs. “It will be Dr. Ziegler’s problem.”

“Hmph.” He takes a short drag off it, imagines the smoke twisting through his lungs, and says offhandedly, “Reyes don't care for it much.”

His eyebrows lift, but he doesn't push it, or tell him to quit, either, which he's grateful for. If he had a cigarette for every time someone said _“that stuff’ll kill you”_ , he’d be six feet under already.

Maybe that's what he wants.

He makes a face and shakes the thought away, though he feels a little sick as he takes another drag. Imagines the smoke slithering through him, coiling in his lungs, rattling its warning every time he catches his breath.

He blows out a puff of smoke and forces himself to think about something else.

“The CIA tried to kill Fidel Castro with cigars,” Genji says out of nowhere, picking up the box between them and carefully pulling it open to scan the remaining cigarettes.

There's an info dump incoming, and Jesse actually catches himself smiling at the prospect.

It's much nicer than a lecture about nicotine.

It's not like he doesn't know what it's doing to him. He's not a _complete_ dumbass. But it's hard to quit, and it's one of the few things that can calm him down when everything starts feeling like it's just too much to take.

And that's definitely why he's smiling. Most certainly not because the only time Genji really talks is when it's about methods of murder, and it's obviously not because the little touch of fascination in his tone is annoyingly endearing.

“It didn’t work.” Genji pulls a cigarette from the pack, ignores Jesse’s offer of the lighter, and starts spinning it through his fingers. “They laced a box with botulinum, so it would seem as if he had food poisoning, but it never got close. They tried an exploding cigar, too. And exploding shoes.”

Jesse looks down at his bare feet, then pulls the cigarette from his mouth and acts like he's inspecting it, squinting at the glowing embers. “I _think_ I'm safe.”

“You would not know yet.” Genji waves his own cigarette dismissively. “Not for another three days.”

He pauses, glancing between Genji and their cigarettes, considering it, before taking another drag off his. “You really think whoever’s after you is gonna poison _my_ cigarettes?”

Lightning strikes far off, and a second later, thunder follows.

Jesse swears he sees Genji flinch.

“Perhaps,” he says vaguely, staring out into the storm.

It's the first time Jesse’s heard him sound unsure of himself.

Jesse watches the cigarette he's spinning around between flesh and bone fingers, then looks up to his face, though Genji’s doing a good job of not meeting his eyes. “Do you smoke?”

Genji clicks his tongue. He does that an awful lot, Jesse’s noticed, when he gets asked anything remotely personal.

“Not tobacco,” he allows. “And not recently.”

Jesse’s smoked nearly down to the filter, so he takes one last drag off it, lets it hang out of his mouth as he slides lucky number three from the box. “Then I don't think anyone’d try to kill you with my bad habits,” he says, having a little difficulty talking around the cigarette.

Genji doesn't answer immediately, and he's fine with that.

With a new cigarette in his mouth, he uses the lit end of the second stub to light his lucky one, and he's got another breath of fresh nicotine settling in his lungs.

The rain pounds against the dirt in front of them, and Jesse experimentally holds the stub out into the night, more than a little amused by how quickly the orange embers are put out by the rain.

Genji watches it, though he can't tell if he's just as entertained.

He shakes the water off his hand, shockingly icy for a summer rainstorm.  

The second stub is set neatly next to the first, and Jesse takes a long drag, then shuts his eyes and lets out a longer sigh, imagining that the smoke in his lungs is a cobra rising from a woven basket for a snakecharmer, hissing all the while.

“What if you are the one they want dead?”

Jesse considers that.

He considers that for a while, watching the rain soaking into the earth, the dark clouds gliding over the moon, the lightning cracking and the thunder rumbling, and he remembers a night like this a lifetime ago, when he was young and dumb and thought he was hot shit, when he wanted to spend forever and eternity riding on strips of faded asphalt, under this very same bleached bone desert sky with people he’d once thought he would have died for.

“Naw,” he says, at last. “Anyone who wants me dead’d just put a bullet in my skull. Anythin’ else ain't worth the trouble.”

Genji follows his gaze. He nods once, just slightly.

Neither of them have anything to add. Jesse, for the life of him, can't think of one thing that'll get rid of his words lingering in the air, pounding around in his head.

He can't help the feeling that letting Genji know anything about him is an unnecessary risk, at best, and at worst—he's got no idea what Genji would do if he heard something he didn't like.

Genji reaches forward, but not towards Jesse. Towards the rain.

The rain starts beating down on the back of his hand, fat raindrops plopping onto his metal fingers and dripping off.

“Do you, uh..” _Bad question. Bad question._ “Rust?” Too late.

Genji turns his hand over and water begins to pool in his palm, glistening against the dark metal. “I do not know.”

He takes another drag off his cigarette, watching that hand just as intently as Genji must be. “Might wanna look into that.”

Lightning flashes again, much closer, and Genji wiggles his fingers as the rumbling thunder follows, then glances to his other hand, still spinning the cigarette. “It can be replaced.”

He lifts an eyebrow, but doesn't push it. “Fair enough.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jesse wonders if Genji’s just a lightning rod now. All metal like he is, gotta be one hell of a conductor.

“You worried about gettin’ struck?” He asks, and as if to prove his point, lightning cracks and thunder roars all around them.

“Not particularly.” He holds his hand out further, eyes flicking up to the dark sky, like he's reaching for something. Like he's ready to snatch a fistful of lightning, just to prove he can.

He doesn't have to prove anything; just looking at him, Jesse would believe it.

“Are you?” Genji turns his head to look at him, those red eyes burning into him, and sets his unlit cigarette down.

 _Maybe a little._ “More for you than myself.”

“How sweet of you.” The corner of his lip twitches up into an almost-smile. He's got an awfully smug look, just underneath, and Jesse can't quite figure why until Genji shifts and sets his foot down on the ground, sinking an inch into the mud.

Jesse glances back up to his face, raising an eyebrow. “What're you doin’?”

Genji sets his other foot down and pushes himself up off the deck, and then he's standing in the rain, that red glow floating off him like a streetlight in the early morning fog, and he's barely more than a silhouette until he turns back to him, head tilted, eyes shining, with that almost-smile. “Taking a walk.”

Jesse does his very best to look unimpressed, taking another drag off his cigarette and leaving it in his mouth before he forgets about it. “You tryin’ to get short-circuited?”

“Perhaps,” he says, dangerously playful.

Genji reaches for him, and Jesse’s heart kicks up when he thinks it's for his face, and he's not sure if it's because he's afraid he's gonna hit him or he's excited he's gonna—

Nope. Stopping that train of thought. Right now.

With rainwater dripping off his prosthetic hand, Genji plucks the cigarette from between Jesse’s lips.

Jesse stares, mouth half-open to protest, but his voice dies in his throat.

Genji twirls it around his fingers, showing off that fine motor control he must've been working on, and Jesse blinks up from his hand to see Genji staring right at him, and warm red eyes keep him pinned in place as he takes a long, slow drag off the stolen cigarette.

The tips of his ears burn, and Jesse can't hide his annoyingly fond smile.

Lightning cracks like a whip, horribly, awfully loud. Genji doesn't flinch.

“You sure you passed your psych eval?” For someone who thought so much about dying, he didn't seem to mind it much.

Genji raises his eyebrows, shields the cigarette from the rain in one hand as he takes one step backwards, then another, and another, deliberately slowly, and he lifts his other hand to where an ear should've been. “What was that?”

Lightning cracks. Thunder rumbles.

Genji’s illuminated for barely a second, his hair already soaking wet and plastered to his forehead, an awfully smug grin on his face and a stolen cigarette in his hand.

He looks perfectly at home here, Jesse thinks. At the center of a summer storm with lightning crackling through the clouds, rain beating against his face, just _daring_ him to step out into the storm.

So he does.

Mud squelches between his toes, and it's something he's not felt since he was a kid playing out in the rain, a lifetime ago. Water’s already dripping from the brim of his hat, icy needles of rain pricking through his clothes. He didn't bother to get dressed, just wearing his sleep shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and he realizes, regretfully, that he still hasn't done his laundry.

Genji’s grin widens. He takes another drag off the cigarette, orange embers burning beneath his fingers, and Jesse stops in front of him, noting with some satisfaction that Genji has to look up to meet his eyes.

“I’d like that back,” Jesse says, sticking his thumbs in his pockets. He's thoroughly soaked, now, the cold seeping into his bones, but he finds he doesn't mind it quite so much.

“Hm.” Genji taps the cigarette with one finger, shaking off the ash, acting like he's thinking real hard on it. “Ask me nicely.”

Jesse glances down, laughs under his breath, painfully aware of his stare, and there's another flash of lightning as he looks back up to him. “May I please have my cigarette back?”

He cocks his head, with a wicked gleam in his eyes that makes Jesse nearly forget to breathe. “Like you _really_ mean it.”

And that's just cruel.

But, _God_ , the look on his face.

“ _Genji_ , darlin’, honey,” Jesse drawls, putting a real heavy emphasis on each word to hide the way his heart’s in his throat. “ _Sweetheart_ , won't you please be a _doll_ and let me have my cigarette back?”

Genji watches him.  

For a good long while, his eyes flick over his face, inspecting him, and Jesse reaches for Genji’s hand, cupped around the cigarette, and he thinks that now would be the time to lean forward the rest of the way, to close that distance between them, and he almost thinks he’s going to, and Genji lifts his hand, cigarette still burning bright, Jesse’s fingers barely grazing his skin, and—

“You just love to tease me, don’t you?” Jesse murmurs.

Genji smiles, sickeningly sweet, beautifully wicked, and sets the cigarette between Jesse’s lips.

There's a flash of white and a horrible _crack_ , and one of the trees lining the property bursts into splinters.

Something in him screams _gun_ or _explosion_ or even _belt_ and he jerks away, grabbing at his hat as he slips in the mud and slams flat onto his back, and Genji’s right next to him, propped up on his elbows, staring out at the smoldering tree barely a hundred feet from them.

Jesse looks at Genji.

Genji looks at Jesse.

The two of them scramble to their feet and dart to the front deck, thunder crashing all around them, and it's only after the ringing in his ears fades and he's lying on his back on the front deck, finally out of the rain, that Jesse realizes he's laughing.

Chest heaving, panic pounding against his rib cage, he drops his head back onto the wooden planks, and he laughs.

Genji’s sitting on his legs, hands braced against the floor, breathing just as heavily.

The scent of ozone lingers in the air, sharp and sweet, followed by burnt wood.

Jesse drags his hand through his hair, and, a moment too late, realizes he’s covered in mud. He glances at Genji.

Mud is smeared over his whole back, clumps of it sticking where it probably shouldn't, and it almost looks like he’s got a pair of boots and gloves with how thoroughly it coats his hands and feet.

He probably doesn't look much better.

They should be going inside. They should've gone in way before this, when that first lightning strike was so close, but it's a beautifully violent storm, and Jesse just can't bring himself to leave it.

Self-preservation wins out. Sort of.

Jesse pushes himself into a sitting position, grimacing at the mud caked along his arms. “Reyes’ll kill us if we track this shit inside.”

Genji glances back at him, so sharply that drops of water fly off his hair. “What?”

He gestures vaguely towards the mud splattered all over Genji, then himself.  

Genji scowls at his hand, then shakes off the clumps, only managing to in splatter it across the deck and his already hilariously muddied face.

It takes a moment for Jesse to realize he's probably got the same; he reaches up to his cheek. “Shit, have I got—?”

“You've got a little on your..” Genji eyes him with amusement, then gestures to the entirety of his face. “Everything.”

“Ha, ha,” he says dryly. “Same to you, smartass.”

Genji appears personally offended by this information, and touches his cheek self-consciously.

Jesse’s shirt is soaked, and just as dirty, but he lifts it up to his face, wiping himself off the best he can. “You can have the first shower, if you like.”

Wordlessly, Genji lifts his hand, twisting it this way and that to take a good long look at the mud, before he wipes it off on Jesse’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” he says dryly, glancing from his shoulder up to Genji’s face.

Genji shrugs. Sighs softly. And very, very slowly, sets his hand on his knee and pushes himself up to stand, looming over Jesse, cutting a sharp figure in the night, hints of the moon peeking out from the violent clouds to give him a silvered halo.

Genji watches the drizzle, barely more than a mist, now, and turns on his heel.

Jesse forces himself not to watch him go. But he hears each featherlight footstep, and the soft creak of the door as Genji eases it shut.

And he catches himself smiling at nothing at all, wondering just what might've happened in the rain had the storm not intervened.

**Author's Note:**

> title from this excellent [wwii paratrooper song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vzrYgDnewSI) (graphic violence in the lyrics!)
> 
> come talk to me on my [tumblr!](%E2%80%9Damaranthblue.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


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